Island of Misfit Toys
by snackysmores
Summary: It's Christmas Eve and Stan is home alone, feeling lonely and depressed at the bottom of the bottle...Who else should he call but his new best friend Butters? [Warnings for nsfw Christmas cheer and references to alcohol abuse.]


Just one drink down, and music sounds right again. It has a meaning. It resonates within, instead of bouncing off.

He wants to get close to people instead of pushing them away. If only he could feel like this always.  
>When he was a kid he'd roll his eyes at his dad. Yeah, right. As if you can't keep yourself from the liquor. He got it now. When you were drifting at sea, waiting for someone or something to pull you out or pull you under, the thirst becomes so strong that you'll gulp down the salty ocean water even if it drives you mad. It wasn't an exaggeration to say it was everywhere. The liquor was everywhere. That was the reality of adult life: everyone drank themselves stupid to deal with each other's bullshit. Why have a family when everyone hates each other? Why have friends when you can't hold blood over their heads and keep them by you always? He knew he was a fractured mess, but no one had the guts to deliver the blow that would make him shatter. He would continue to hobble and stumble forward, doing his best to toe a straight line, but always straying.<p>

Liqour wasn't so bad. He knew it was the scorpion waiting to sting, but he carried it across the river with him because he couldn't do it alone. He couldn't blame Kyle anymore for not being there. Stan just pulled him down.

'So, who's my new best friend?'

Someone who celebrates Christmas. Someone who won't throw up their hands and walk away. Someone who cares. Really, there was only one person he could call.

"Hi, Stan!"

Stan smiled. "Hey, Butters. We should hang out. You're not grounded on Christmas Eve, are you?"

"Shucks, not this year...I'd be happy to come and hang out, but I gotta ask...We're not gonna do anything that could get us in trouble, are we?" Butters sat in the living room with his freshly arranged gingerbread house, watching those stop-animation Christmas movies that get songs stuck in your head.

"A little underage drinking, but no one's going to catch us if we stay in." Stan was laying on his back on the couch, ignoring the same Christmas special, tired of feeling like a misfit toy on a frozen island.

"I figured you'd been drinkin'..." Butters laughed and it made Stan's stomach tighten with shame, but he was relieved to hear Butters continue, "I'll be right over, if you can manage to save a lil' for me."

"Yeah, see ya." Stan hung up and held the warm phone to his chest, still smiling up at the ceiling. Did Butters even know how much of a blessing he was? He was all together too good to be stuck in this shit-hole and he didn't even realize it, always skipping in the muck with a pocket full of posies. Maybe some of his boundless optimism and Christmas cheer would rub off on him...

"Have you been all alone in here?" Butters looked around, concerned when no one in the family replied to his holiday greetings at the door.

"They're at some party. With the Broflovskis." Stan waved a hand dismissively and gave Butters a Christmas mug branded with the Polar Express. Just because Stan's dad was best friends with Gerald didn't mean that Stan had to be best friends with Gerald's kid.

"Oh."

Butters held the mug in both hands and took a sip once Stan helped him to some spiked egg nog. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

That seemed like such a box standard thing to say, but no one had asked in a long time. He figured it must be too much work for anyone.

"Talk about what?"

Stan tried to deflect the offer for help like he had learned to do. He could always sense relief when he'd say he was fine, or that he didn't need to talk about his problems. His problems were there to stay, and that bothered people. Desiring some kind of resolution was only natural, but he was stuck re-running the same tired episodes of complete ennui that sent him crawling into the bottle like a hermit crab.

"Well, anything really."

Butters could be naive, but Stan knew he had secret pains of his own that must be slowly eroding the sweet candy-coating he projected to the world.

"I don't want to talk about him," Stan protested, "He's only ever been my friend because it was convenient. I feel shitty and alone, and I need someone to lean on, you know?"

"You can lean on me, Stan." Butters sat down and put a hand over Stan's. Stan stared at it. The sight of his bony, listless fingers getting pressed and squeezed on by soft cherubic digits stirred some kind of fear inside of him, and his forefinger twitched up like a spider's leg poised to run away in a burst of speed.

The warm touch receded, pulling away with uncertainty, Butters voicing, "If you want."

Stan turned his palm over and caught the retreating hand, squeezing it to show he had life left to spare. "I do, and I appreciate it. You could tell me about whatever too."

Butters figured his fingers had lingered long enough, feeling the dry, cracked skin of Stan's palm and the calloused tips of his fingers, worn from playing the guitar. He pulled away and squeezed the mug full with a creamy, festive cocktail, taking a gulp down.  
>"I can't really think of nothin'," he drawled with poor grammar, "But thanks for inviting me over, I was starting to lose my Christmas cheer."<p>

Stan rolled his eyes and leaned back into the couch. "Yeah, I'm pretty festive over here..."

His mom had all but begged him to put on the hideous Christmas sweater from his aunt, showing an asymmetrical Christmas tree and a pattern of presents. Stan admired that Butters was dressed up too, his hideous sweater a pale blue with white doves and silver bells.

"Shit, you didn't get me a present, did you?" Stan narrowed his eyes at Butters, seeing him sort of bouncing with anticipation.

"Yeah, I did," Butters looked away sheepishly, pulling a small box from his pocket. "You can open it now if you want, I'd like to see the look on your face when you open it."

Stan took the box, looking just as sheepish, apologizing, "I'm sorry, I didn't think to..."

Butters interrupted, "It's okay Stan, and besides, it's not too late to get me something."

Stan wasn't sure what he could get so late in the game unless he gave away one of his own dvds or something, so he went ahead and moved the attention back to what he got from Butters by opening it.

He saw an over-sized oval-shaped faux gemstone attached to a silver band. A ring. "You, uh...Got me a ring?"

"It's a mood ring!" Butters pointed out insistently after gulping down more eggnog, feeling hotly embarrassed by some unspoken insinuation. "It changes colors and shows your mood!"

"Butters, you know that's bullshit, right? It's just a liquid crystal thermometer that changes color with body temperature." Stan explained, while at least giving the courtesy of putting the ring on his left hand. Judging by the look on his face, it was obvious that Butters did not think that the mood ring was bullshit. Stan had heard as much from his dad, the know-it-all geologist.

"Nuh-uh...! Cuz some of that heat does depend on your mood. Just wait and see what color shows up." Butters gulped more eggnog and let the mug make a clatter on the coffee table, taking Stan's hand in his and taking a close look at the ring as it warmed up to him.

Bright violet soon rose from the blackened crystal liquid and Butters sat up straight like an alerted meerkat. "Violet!" he proclaimed, pulling out the color chart from the box, reading, "Very happy...Passionate..." going down the list his voice shrank and muted itself, "Romantic..."

"It's because you were holding my hand," Stan defended and the fluster it put into Butters was instantly contagious. "Warming my hand, I mean!"

"Well, I'm sorry for getting you something dumb, Stan..." Butters let go and went back to coddle his eggnog.

"No, dude...I get what you were thinking, like, if you could read my mood I'd be easier to deal with."

"Easier to help," Butters clarified.

"Yeah. It was a thoughtful gift. Merry Christmas, Butters."

"Merry Christmas, Stan." they hugged and settled back into the couch. They took turns talking and drinking during the commercials, singing along to the shows, growing more boisterous as they emptied and filled their mugs in quick succession.

"Butters, I can't think of anything to get you for Christmas. What do you want? And keep in mind that I have no money." Stan held in a burp that made his chest sizzle, slouching deep into his seat with his feet up on the coffee table.

"There is something I was wishing could happen, but," Butters fidgeted, speaking with a sluggish slur, "I dunno...I don't want to make any trouble for you."

"Dude, fuck that!" Stan swooped over to Butters and grabbed his shoulder. "Just tell me what it is, and that'll be my present to you for Christmas."

Butters eased Stan upright, making a mental note to cut the two of them off from drinking much more. "Settle down, and I'll tell you."

Stan waited with rapt attention, expecting something potentially life-changing.

Butters began, "You know the nativity scene they have in front of the church? With the dinky little manger, the light-up figures, and the live donkey?"

Stan cocked his head, feeling confused and off-balance. "What about it?"

"It's the donkey, Stan. Lil' Nicholas. They keep him out there in the cold all night for people to gawk at...I can't stand it! I just want to let him free. There, do you see now? I can't just go and free that donkey, that donkey is somebody's property. It's a stupid wish."

"It's not stupid," Stan asserted with sincerity. "You're totally right, Butters. That donkey...Lil' Nicholas is being abused, so we ought to go and liberate him." Stan was hyped for this. He used to stand for shit, especially for animals. He'd been a selfish asshole all year, so he was going to pull a Cartman and try to make up for it at the last minute. "Come on, Butters!"

"Stan, wait, we gotta put on our jackets and stuff first...!"

There was a scuffle at the doorway, Butters blocking Stanley from charging out the door with no hat, no gloves, and his boots unlaced. Taking a hard stance on the matter, Butters got Stan to get properly dressed, helping his tottering friend in the process, even though he himself was swaying.

They were holding hands all the while on their whirling, meandering run to the church. It made it easy to hoist the other back to their feet when they stumbled in the banks of snow, or slipped on the patches of black ice.

"I think I got a bruise on my hip." Butters whined after a nasty spill right at the entrance of the church parking lot, but it was a happy sort of bruise that he'd look at proudly later on.

"Rub some dirt on it," Stan recited, some dubious military advice he'd heard from his uncle Jimbo. "We've got to be quick about this."

Butters ahhed at the utility knife Stan kept in his brown bomber jacket, watching him saw through the rope holding the donkey to a post.

Stan held the frayed end, keeping the donkey on a leash of rope. "Uhh, what now?"

"Whaddya mean, what now? Oh. Shit." What do they do with the donkey now?

"Let's just take him into the church," Stan proposes, "He's an animal of god, so he can go in god's house and be warm and stuff. A donkey shared his house with god once, so it's only fair."

That made sense to Butters, so they tugged the doors around the church grounds until they found that the rec room was unlocked, and they led Lil' Nicholas inside.

"Yeah, he'll be comfy in here," Stan approved, looking around the clean rec room. With a glassy, buffed concrete floor it'd be easy to clean up any mess the donkey made too.

"I'll just leave the door propped open a little bit in case lil' Nicholas needs to go outside." Butters giddily wedged the rec room door ajar and pranced outside, looking up to see a fresh drift of white flakes falling from the sky.

"Merry Christmas, lil' Nicholas!" Stan shouted and Butters hurried over to shush him with a mitt to his mouth, snickering all the while.

"Merry Christmas, Butters."

With his forearms to Stan's chest and a nose's length between their faces Butters felt his throat close up. Stan was shining like a Christmas miracle, with rosy cheeks and a perfect happy smile, and Butters felt a flash of regret for using up his one request to Stan.

"Thanks, Stan." Butters muffled into the puffy collar of Stan's jacket, planting his face to his chest. Stan hugged him and they did a sort of drunken slow dance in the falling snow until lil' Nicholas clopped out of the rec room and wandered over to the nativity scene to eat the hay he had been kept out of reach from all day.

"You've really got gumption when it comes to getting in trouble, Stan." Butters complimented on the walk home, linking arms because if one of them was going to fall now, they may as well go down together.

"Well, I am grounded for Christmas," Stan shrugged callously, and Butters recoiled to check if Stan had been possessed by the devil. "You're what!? What'd you do?"

Stan grimaced as the liquor drove a brief, spiking headache into his left temple. "I said that Christmas was bullshit. I told them I didn't want to go to their stupid party, and they should go fuck off without me. So they did, and I'm grounded. I'm not supposed to have company or get presents. They'll be back in a day or two from visiting Mom's side of the family."

The party, the drive up the mountain, the non-stop socializing...It would have driven him to an alternate ending of It's a Wonderful Life, where he just throws himself off of a bridge because the world would move on without him. This all sounded raw and pragmatic in a gothic sense, but he felt new shame from the look of pity Butters wore. "Sorry I pulled you into contributing to my delinquency," Stan mumbled.

"Shucks Stan, if I don't think a donkey deserves to be left in the cold on Christmas Eve, then how do you figure I feel about you?"  
>Butters urged him to consider it, and it made Stan curious. "How do you feel about me?"<p>

"I asked 'how do you figure I feel about you', you can't just ask me!" Butters dodged the question, as if he hadn't set it up as rhetorical from the start.

"'I figure'," Stan mockingly drawled, "You must not mind spending Christmas Eve with me then."

Stan looked away and rapidly blinked away a tear forming at his eye, feeling a tight grip on his arm, and on his heart.

"Sayin' I 'must not mind' doesn't even come close." Butters elbowed Stan in the ribs in a huff and made them both careen to the left.

"What about my question then? I told you what I figured." Stan reminded and bumped back, careening to the right, and Butters heaved with strength he didn't think he had, replying, "I told you: you can't just ask me!"

If they just took a moment to untangle their arms they could have righted themselves, but they held to their unspoken pact and fell in a single drunken heap.

"Why can't I just ask you?" Stan mumbled into a short and spiky crop of blonde hair in his face.

Butters rolled over, off of Stan, making a sloppy snow pair of snow angels on the ground. "You shouldn't have to ask, that's my point."

"I don't get it, dude. That sounds like head games to me..." Stan flailed his limbs to better outline his snow angel, feeling too off-kilter to stand up anyway.

"How do you feel about me then?" Butters asked, and Stan realized then it wasn't such an easy question to answer in some situations...It would be easier if Butters just knew. But it was still bullshit, because how else would he know unless Stan told him?

"I feel like I wanna grab you and push you away at the same time." Stan grunts in frustration, balling his free hand full of snow into a fist. "Like, I've been such a dick to you...I don't deserve to be your friend."

Butters batted his eyes at the snow falling on his face. He rarely drank at all, and he was trying his best to impose lucidity on himself in the lull of intoxication. "Just grab me then, Stan. I don't want you to push me away. You admit you've done wrong by me, and that means something when no one else has." Butters sat up and encouraged Stan to do the same, tugging him by the wrist as he proved non-compliant. He treated him to a hug about the shoulders, and then moved to get the two of them to their feet, stumbling in step with each other. "What else is wrong, huh?" Butters puffed up at Stan and made him laugh.

"Nothing, I guess. Just been stuck in my own head." Stan didn't mean to spoil the mood, he figured they were having a good time getting into a spot of mischief or two. "Do you gotta get home some time tonight?"

"I've been left behind too, they went to my grandma's. She can't stand to have me over since I managed to stand up to her bullying me. So, I've got no curfew."

Stan nodded curtly in reply, muttered 'cool', and it went unsaid that Butters could stay for the night if he cared to.

They lingered outside, feeling like there would be something lost moving from the wild of the outdoors to the warm calm inside Stan's house. They sat on the porch and racked their brains for something to do before retiring for the evening. Stan searched his jacket for brain food and found a peppermint stick. Snapping it in half he shared with Butters. "Your grandma's still giving you trouble?"

They'd been talking about the dark sides of their families on and off. The guys made fun of them for getting beaten up by older female relatives, and commiserating with each other was all they had for a time. For the both of them the physical abuse had stopped after a certain age, but the emotional punches kept coming. "Well, she doesn't live with us, so it can't be that bad to begin with, but she raised all kinds of hell when I came out and 'ruined Thanksgiving'. Doesn't want me to ruin Christmas. Guess my parents feel the same way..." Butters cupped his soft chin in his hands and sucked glumly on the minty candy.

"Why did you come out?" Stan blurted it. He couldn't imagine bothering with his family. They hardly cared about him to begin with, so why take that kind of risk?

"Just...Confirming their suspicions," Butters gave a single, wry laugh. "If they're going to talk poorly about people who are different than them...I want them to know." He cast a serious look at his own house down the street, full of determination. "I thought that would show them they were wrong. They would feel bad, because I was different, and I was their son. But it didn't work. They just hate me too now. I don't count as a whole family member anymore. I can be rounded down and left out of the equation."

They sat with that pause, waiting for the snow to bury it, waiting for the cold to numb their freshly bared pains. Butters mumbled, "I guess I was the one confirming my suspicions in the end. So how is your family, Stan?"

"Fuck 'em." Stan crossed his arms tightly over his chest. "I don't know why we're talking about them. This used to be the one time of year everyone would pretend to love each other, but no one even tries anymore."

Humming at the same wavelength of resigned indignation, they took turns talking until they finished their halves of the peppermint stick. They wallowed, but they felt better for it, being able to share it and then leave those bad feelings out in the blanketing snow.

Standing up on the porch, Butters complained, "My nose is cold," and Stan's face was suddenly there, pressing their noses together, swiping back and forth.

Stan didn't want the gesture to be left behind them, so he asked, "How was that?"

"Still cold," Butters declared, looking expectantly at Stan until they were nuzzling again. "Hungry too."

"Do you want to make something?" Stan lead Butters inside and moved through the living room toward the kitchen once he had taken off his boots and outdoor gear.

Butters followed suit, but in the process of taking off his outdoor wear, he stripped off his snow pants and slacks to reveal a pair of banana-yellow lycra shorts that became obscured by the baggy Christmas sweater he kept on. Stan didn't want to stare, but he did notice a few things. "You shaved your legs, dude?"

"Feels good. Dude." Butters tried the nickname on for size and laughed as it sounded completely uncool from him. "They're really soft and smooth...See?"

Standing beside the refrigerator, Butters caught Stan's wrist and brought his hand to rest on the flesh of his creamy white thigh.

"Oh, uh...Yeah, it is." Stan had been feeling fuzzy and warm with affection, but now he was aroused and he didn't know what to do about it because Butters must just be showing off how soft and smooth his shaven legs are. He stroked down at the guidance of Butters, and stroked back up of his own volition. Butters was narrow at the shoulders and wide at the hips, with plump thighs and buttocks that commanded Stan's attention with pleasing shapes and textures.

Butters was about to ask if Stan had considered shaving his legs too, but his hand had lingered past touching...Stan was feeling him up! He caught Stan staring downward, and he followed his eye-line so as not to be caught watching his ogling. Stan found the dimples, textured like an overripe orange peel, over the back of his leg, and his fingers smoothed over them. Butters tugged on the hem of his sweater to hide the tent in his shorts, shifting his weight to one leg and then the other, leaning his forehead on Stan's shoulder, giving up the ghost by letting out a pleased murmur. Stan's fingers fanned out wide and squeezed, kneading firmly into the doughy flesh of his ass while pulling Butters against him.

"Sorry, are you still hungry?" Stan asked absentmindedly, still plying with a handful as if he were manipulating a stress toy.

"Nnnhuh," Butters groaned, hanging over Stan and grinding on his torso, "I dunno..." He shuddered as Stan pulled away and moved to preheat the oven, toeing after him and sticking close like a cat winding about someone's legs. Stan moved to the fridge next, and brought out some cookie dough to spoon onto a baking sheet.

Butters pouted and hugged Stan from behind, kissing at the back of his neck. "Ok, I hope to hell you mean to fool around with me, because I feel like a hot mess right now, darnit."

"I was hoping you wanted to, but you'll want some cookies." Stan reasoned, craning his neck to make kissing it more convenient.

"Yeah, I will." Butters agreed. There was a voice telling him not to binge on cookies, and a voice telling him he shouldn't be fooling around with Stan, but they both sounded like his father, so he would ignore them. "Did you prepare this yourself? I can imagine you being a good baker, Stan." Butters praised and pecked up to Stan's ears, feeling along his ribs with his fingers.

"I did. I dunno if I'm good, I just felt like I needed to make them since there weren't any. You'll want them fresh out of the oven, trust me." Stan watched the numbers tick upward on the electronic read of the oven's internal temperature. It kept him on edge waiting, but he leaned back on Butters and passively enjoyed the intimate attention he was getting.

Butters wasn't pleased enough having Stan act composed, so his hands both slipped into the front of Stan's tight pants and squeezed. Within a restricted space he tugged up and down and made Stan buckle, leaning over the counter for support with a bothered grunt. Butters suckled and tugged at Stan's earlobe before huskily whispering. "I'm going to run upstairs real quick and get myself 'preheated', so you pop in those cookies and find a condom or two for me."

"Nghhkay." Stan gasped in interrupted relief as grasping hands left the front of his pants, and he watched Butters swaying his hips as he went.

"Damn", he swore under his breath, keeping Butters in his sight as long as he could without moving from his spot by the oven. Some guys, like Kenny, were obsessed with breasts. Some other guys, like Stan, were obsessed with asses. He didn't know who was keeping the list of best boy butts at his school, but his personal list just awarded Butters first place. He was looking at the palms of his hands and groping empty air when the oven dinged and snapped him back to the dreamy reality he had going, putting in cookies to share with a very special friend. The piping bag of icing he had out on the counter was reaching a more spreadable temperature and the cookies had twelve minutes to bake. Stan found the bathroom door closed upstairs and dug around in his room for condoms until he found them in his sock drawer. He'd discretely taken a paper bag full of them from his mom's work at planned parenthood to pass along to Kenny. Just your run-of-the-mill condoms mostly, except for the glow-in-the-dark ones and the flavored ones. Flavored ones still tasted of latex or whatever, so why bother? Still, he considered his options.

Hearing the bathroom open in the hallway, he took a fistful of condoms into his pocket and hurried out to meet Butters. "Uh, hey."

"Howdy," Butters grinned, reaching to lace his fingers with Stan's and walk him back downstairs to the kitchen. "What's on your mind?"

"Well..." Stan admitted, "I wanted to ask you, like, out. For a Christmas date or whatever."

"Sure I'd like to go on a Christmas date, sounds fun! We could go to the mall, see a movie, go ice skating...How much longer until the cookies are ready?" Butters asked.

"Nine more minutes," Stan checked promptly before leaning back against the counter.

"I'm hungry now," Butter pouted.

"There's icing?" Stan pointed out while missing the clear double entendre he was set up for.

"Ooh!" Butters scooped up the piping bag and leaned in close to Stan, squeezing until a growing bead of icing formed at the tip of the piping spout. Butters licked it and squeezed some more, offering it to Stan before licking at his tongue to steal some of the morsel away. "It's very good. The sweetness is just right...What's that flavor?"

"That's, uh, almond extract." Stan mumbled, watching Butters sample the confectionary glaze in an erotic display.

"Mm." Butters affirmed, freeing a hand to open the front of Stan's pants and pull them down. He kneeled and looked up at Stan, grasping his erection and piping a trail of icing over it. He took teasing licks at it and watched how Stan squeezed the counter, rocking on his heels for more.

Butters laid his outstretched tongue at the base of Stan's cock and slowly dragged upwards, pooling icing in his mouth. As he neared the throbbing glans he tilted his head forward and took Stan inside, bobbing down with a tight seal of his lips.

Stan heaved a wanting breath and his hands flew to the top of Butters's head. Butters put the piping bag on the counter and braced his hands on Stan's hips to keep him from jerking in and making him gag. He took a few pumps and rolls of his head and jaw, sputtering and tearing up from his eyes trying to take Stan into his throat. He would push, push, push with convulsing squeezes of his throat to Stan's tip each time before shlucking him out of his mouth to take a breath and try again. He was drooling copiously and after a few tries he strained and took it deeper into his throat. He removed his hands from Stan's hips and braced them on the floor with his watery eyes looking up in supplication.

Stan unfurled and furled again the grip he had on Butters, moving himself back and forth, moaning without restraint now, making slow intercourse with the blonde's hot, wet mouth. His eyes would flick to the oven's timer now and then, and it became the countdown he tried to hold himself to. After a few minutes Butters could take his repetitive penetration smoothly, and Stan lost himself to the pleasure, eyes straining with a silent plea for forgiveness as he sloppily thrusted his hips, getting slick lips stamping against his pelvis. With a minute to go in the oven Stan felt an orgasm within his grasp and he rushed for it, knowing he couldn't stall it any longer without ruining it. He writhed and held Butters down with drool coating his sac, nudging his cock deep and unloading into his throat with a series of throbbing pulses, feeling immense relief and leg-trembling pleasure. He felt Butters seizing up tight on him and it felt all the better filling him, but his face grew red, and Stan let go.

Butters jerked back all at once to get a rush of air in his lungs, forced to gulp what had already been poured too deep, jaw sore and his tongue outstretched; there were webs of arcing spit that connected his lips and Stan's cock, and the fresh embarrassment of it was trumped by a final wad shooting out of that inflamed tip to splatter over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, jerked out by Stan's hand.

The oven dinged and Stan looked so out of it panting and groping himself that Butters wiped his face on a towel and used it to pull the pan of cookies from the oven. "Smells delicious!" Butters croaked, realizing his voice had gone a bit, so he went to get milk from the fridge. He poured their mugs full and took a drink of the cool liquid before returning to lean on Stan. "I can hardly wait for them to cool..." He poked at one of the cookies and yelped as it singed his fingertip, bringing it to his mouth to suck on.

Stan could hardly feel his own fingertips, numbly reaching to pull his pants and briefs back up. He stumbled over to hug Butters from behind, hands on his hips before Butters could wince. "I've got a bruise there, remember?"

"Sorry...!" Stan couldn't remember much of anything at the moment, hands gliding elsewhere on Butters, reaching under his shirt to feel up his chubby belly.

Butters giggled and drew little designs on the cookies with icing, putting their faces on a pair of them, or at least some crude cartoon approximation of their faces, with o-shaped mouths and oval-shaped eyes. He found the baked cookies to be of an acceptable temperature, so he took a bite out of the Stan he made.

"Mmm, you are a good baker...!" Butters admired, getting bold tastes of ginger, molasses, and brown sugar from the soft, brown cookies.

Stan reached for the Butters-shaped cookie and dipped it in milk before taking a bite. "I was thinking I'd put some stuff together for gingerbread waffles in the morning..."

"That sounds amazing!" Butters imagined a stack of bacon to go with it as he took a spatula and plated the cookies to bring into the living room.

They cuddled together on the couch with Butters seated on Stan's lap, taking bites out of the same cookie together from Butters's hand.

"Three is probably enough...For now." Butters had finished off his milk anyway, so he could wait to have more cookies later. "Now that I'm all fed, I think we have some unfinished business to attend to..." Butters rolled his hips on Stan's lap and got him to respond with a hand pressing on his lower back.

They kissed and whispered to each other, Stan eased onto his back, and Butters straddling him. Having cleaned and prepped himself, Butters thought he could coast off of his performance in the kitchen and asked, "Would you, uh...Give me a rimjob, Stan?"

Stan throbbed and nodded. He was obsessed with ass sure, but he hadn't really thought about doing that before. Thinking about it now, though...

"Yeah. Just...Sit on my face," Stan instructed in faux-nonchalance, trying to belie how sexy he thought that would be.

Butters climbed up Stan's prone body until he his ample thighs were clasped about Stan's cheeks. He tugged down his shorts and spread himself, wiggling down to sit tentatively on Stan's face. "I'm not smothering you, am I?"

Stan's nose swiped over his taint shaking his head and murmuring no, encouraging Butters to sit down more firmly. His tongue poked and prodded, meeting a tightly puckered shut entrance.

Butters groaned, eyes fluttering. He'd always wondered what this would be like...Stan was rooting and digging, squeezing his full ass cheeks in hand, and Butters slowly seesawed back and forth, biting his lip. One hand left him and he looked over his shoulder to see that Stan was stroking himself now. Butters joined and masturbated as he was rimmed, his smooth purse resting over Stan's forehead.

Once that tongue was twisting inside, Butters started bunny-hopping up and down to get it deeper, shaking and angling to get him in the right spots. This was his own opportunity for indiscretion after taking a fucking at the back of his throat, popping his rump up and down until it was perpetually jiggling in motion. Stan had to tongue SOS and spank his ass until Butters picked up his hips with a happy sigh. "Oo-da-lolly, that feels good! Sit up now so I can get to work on you."

Butters plopped himself in Stan's lap once he was sitting upright and had a condom on, with his back to his chest, facing the TV that looked blurred in one eye. Stan was eagerly grabbing his bottom, sticking Butters down securely onto his erection, throwing his head back as he was socketed inside a hole he could bottom out and fuck into without worry. Honestly, Stan wouldn't mind eating him out again, among other things...He felt privileged for the opportunity to lavish attention on such a good-looking ass.

They rocked together slowly, Butters spreading his legs wide. They both entertained the thought of fucking like this all night when suddenly there was a rude knocking at the door, and a voice that carried the intent of barging inside right away. It was all Butters could do just to spread a blanket over them before Stan's door flew open to reveal Kyle Broflovski and Eric Cartman.

"Stan! What are you...?" Kyle called out a greeting and then stalled seeing what looked like Butters sitting on Stan's lap.

"Ho-ho-ho! Looks like you two are having a gay old time." Cartman snorted, kicking snow off of his boot onto the welcome matt with his hands in his pockets.

"We made cookies and now we're watching Christas specials!" Butters volunteered the information, sensing that Stan couldn't get a word out if he tried as he was nearly caught balls-deep inside of him.

"Is that so..." Kyle wondered suspiciously.

"Gingerbread. I'm surprised your big shnozz can't smell it, Jew. Is there any left?" Cartman took a step further in the living room but Butters clenched up, "We ate it all!"

"Is Stan using you as a puppet or something? Can't he answer for himself?" Kyle asked with unknown irony, walking over and plopping down right next to Stan. "Why weren't you at the party?"

Stan stiffened up, held onto Butters tightly, praying for them not to get caught like this... "I wasn't in the mood to hang out."

"You and Butters seem to be hanging out just fine," Kyle corrected.

"Butters, you asshole! there are so cookies back here." Cartman called from the kitchen he'd slunk back to, bringing out a handful of cookies for himself.

"Well, that's different. I didn't want to go to a party with a lot of people. So I called Butters over." Stan explained with his mind and body struggling against each other in bewildered arousal as he was publicly penetrating the fat-bottomed boy in his lap. If Kenny was here he would probably sniff out what he was doing in a heartbeat, but he was probably in hell after dying on Black Friday trying to get a Playstation Vita.

"Well...As long as you're not moping around by yourself on Christmas Eve, I guess I'm satisfied." Kyle shrugged and stood up to Stan's relief. "Come on fatass, let's go."

"Where are we going?" Cartman scarfed cookies into his mouth and followed. "This is a holy day for me Jew, don't try to lure me into Canada or some shit so I miss Christmas again."

"Shut the fuck up, we're going to play Call of Duty at your house." Kyle commanded with authority. "I'll...See you tomorrow, Stan?"

"Stan and I are going out on a Christmas date tomorrow!" Butters blurted out and put a stillness in the room.

"Yeah." Stan gulped, hugging Butters tightly about the middle.

"Uhhh, congrats you two. Call if you want to see a movie or whatever." Kyle looked bewildered but unoffended and moved to leave them to their privacy.

"Merry Christmas, fags!" Cartman waved cheerily, with the sounds of Kyle berating him muffling as the door was shut.

The stillness lingered in the room as their cozy bubble had been burst. Butters wiggled uncomfortably, "Stan, I'm awful sorry for opening my big mouth..."

Stan held him put with a strong lock of his arms around his tummy, "No sweat, dude. I was thinking we were gonna go steady anyway...May as well tell the guys. I mean, better than...Showing them." Stan sighed and leaned back in the couch, keeping the covers over their laps, reminding himself to lock the door later.

"Well, he picked a find time to barge in, but I'm glad Kyle came around for you. You two are such good friends! Anyway, while he was here, I could kinda feel you...Getting really excited inside of me." Butters rubbed Stan's knees and pushed his plush ass down firmly.

"Mnrgh..." Stan groaned noncommittally, moving to bury his face in Butters's shoulder blades. He must be developing some kind of fetish...He wanted to sneak Butters into bathrooms, changing rooms, and more to get hot and heavy, kept on the edge by the thought of being caught, playing on the expectation everyone had that Butters was innocent and naive...

"Let's finish..." Butters peeled the blanket off of him, not wanting to make a mess all over it as he was close to the edge himself.

They rocked their hips together again, rolling forward and back on the couch at a more fervent pace than before. Stan leaned back further into the couch, picking up Butters's legs just under the knee, nearing that point of no return where he would rush after an imminent orgasm.

Holding his weight aloft, Stan bucked up into Butters with his eyes screwed tight, spanking him over and over again with a pendulous swinging of his balls. "I'm going to cum...!" Stan announced, and Butters rushed to meet him, vigorously pumping himself in hand. They seized and writhed together, letting their shouts echo off the walls as they collided like surging waves on the beach. Stan ejaculated mid-stroke and didn't slow down, hammering Butters and bloating the reservoir of his condom with a full load. Butters curled his toes and clenched up all over, inadvertently milking Stan as he came to release over the smooth swell of his muffin-topping belly, stroking and squeezing himself. Panting, moaning, they came to lay on their sides. Butters tugged the blanket up over their naked lower bodies and they spooned together. Stan would clean up, lock the door, and find Butters sleeping bottomless on the couch when he got back. Nestling in behind him once more, he kissed his cheek, closed his eyes, and chased after him into a Christmas dreamland of sugar plums.


End file.
